Secretly
by bluemoonbabe
Summary: The German always locks his feelings inside and maintains a professional facade. But then an Italian comes along, and things begin to change. GerIta fluff! Oneshot!


Secretly

"ITALY GET OUT!" It happened again; Italy had decided to sleep in the same bed as Germany. When the German woke up, he felt a weight pressed against his chest. Italy was sleeping soundly, sweetly curled up against Germany. His head lay directly over the German's heart, an arm and a leg wrapped around Germany (even in sleep it looked protective, in a clingy way).

The Italian jumped off of the bed comically, landing face first onto the floor. The hardened look on Germany's face softened as Italy got up off of the floor, "Germany, why did you-a have to scream at me like-a that?" He was rubbing a sore spot on his cheek. The man was wearing a black ribbed tank and blue boxer shorts. Why would he do such a thing to the German—sleeping so _indecently_!?

Before his face could get red, all Germany could manage to yell was "ITALY OUT!"

"But, Germany!"

"OUT!" The Italian woefully exited the room, his head hung low.

Recently, these "episodes" were occurring with increasing regularity. Perhaps the German should have gotten used to these mornings, where he would wake up to the Italian sleeping next to him; sometimes muttering different varieties of pasta underneath his breath. He would never admit it to himself, but it was cute…

Germany noticed the time on the clock, 7:26 military standard time. He should have woken up at 4:00. On the nights that the Italian snuck into his room to sleep next to Germany, Germany had always slept longer. Even in sleep, he could sense the Italian's presence—comforting in an irritating way. He had softened over time since the Italian entered his life: first the enraged outbursts lessened, then he began to stick up for the poor white-flag waving country, next he accepted his offerings of friendship and now he was sleeping next to him, letting himself sleep for longer than he should allow himself to.

Maybe he really shouldn't have screamed at Italy like that? Was it too much?

Germany couldn't let thoughts of the Italian infest his normal thought process, and so shrugging off the events of that morning, he began the rest of his day skipping breakfast and the first half of his morning training.

Out of the blue while Germany was running, the Italian appeared behind him. "Ve, Germany—why didn't you-a tell me that you were out-a running? You-a always make me run with you!"

The German simply grunted and sped ahead, leaving Italy behind to sulk in the lonely and painful world of rejection. After some time just when Germany's mind had reached a blank, tranquil state, schmaltzy thoughts of the Italian began to pass through his head. So many times the Italian had extended his kindness to the German, and so many times the German simply shooed away the Italian, pretending to be either too annoyed or too busy for him. He remembered those times; thinking how he should have let him stay a little longer, let himself enjoy the Italian's presence. Thinking about the Italian…he always smelled—not of pasta—but surprisingly of espresso and Italian pastries. The German would sometimes indulge in the scent of the Italian when he woke up next to him, just for the slightest moment before blowing his top off. How he wished to hold the Italian, the way Italy had held him this morning. Secretly, Germany wished that he could express his love for the Italian the way the Italian so freely could.

After a quick shower, Germany went to prepare lunch only to find that Italy had made a complete pasta dinner for them. "Oh Germany, I was wondering when you would-a show up."

"You made all of dis?" he asked in awe as he stared at the beautiful presentation of Chicken Florentine set in the middle of the small table.

"But of course! You didn't show up for-a breakfast today. I wanted you to have a nice meal for-a lunch!" The Italian was even more exuberant when talking about food, if that was even possible.

"Danke," the German said timidly.

Italy set down a plate at each end of the table along with silverware and sat down, quickly followed by Germany. "Well, dig in!"

Italy attempted to make conversation with Germany, but Germany lazily replied to anything he was asked and acted disinterested in anything the Italian had to say. Though the food was beyond delicious, but the meal ended on a sour note. Germany got up and left, quietly excusing himself. He was unable to be in the same room with the Italian anymore. His heart strained, pounding more and more painfully against his chest with each passing second.

Germany attempted to take his mind off of the Italian by reading, but failed because at 13:30 on the dot his head snapped up so that he could view the time. Italy was already taking his siesta by now, most likely alone in his bed. Germany knew how much the Italian loved to have someone in the bed with him—he slept more comfortably. But Germany hoped, somewhere deep inside where his inner softness lied, that Italy only yearned to sleep next to Germany—that no one else's presence would satisfy his need of togetherness.

Something in Germany snapped at the moment, and he slowly lurched out of the room, his feet carrying him of their own accord. They brought him to Italy's room. Slowly opening the door, soundlessly and just enough for him to squeeze through, Germany tiptoed into the Italian's room. He was sound asleep; to Germany's elation he breathed "Germany" ever so quietly…followed by elatedly exclaiming "tortellini!" Germany's heart skipped a beat.

He removed his shoes, coat and pants at the foot of the bed, eyeing Italy the entire time. Unbeknownst to Germany, he was smiling to himself—Italy looked beyond adorable when he was asleep. He made his way to the empty side of Italy's bed, and lifted the covers slowly. He lied down, scooting over to Italy and put an arm around the Italian's waist. Italy didn't wake up; Germany let out the breath that he had been holding. Italy shifted in his sleep and buried his face in the German's chest.

Germany set his internal clock; he would awake in half an hour and be out before the Italian could notice. This would only happen one time, he told himself (deep down he knew it would happen more than once, though). He breathed in the scent of the Italian—"Ja," he told himself, "I vill vake up in half an hour."

Before falling asleep, Germany whispered to the Italian, "Ich liebe dich, heimlich, ich liebe dich."

* * *

A/N: Translation for the last line: "I love you, secretly, I love you."

I hope you enjoyed. Germany x Italy is one of my favorite pairings in the anime… Other than Austria x Hungary. I hope that Germany wasn't out of character, and the same for Italy. I tried my best to keep their characters true, despite the mass amounts of "feels" at the end.


End file.
